"I should go," he said, shaking his head. "I shouldn't be here. You're still working."
"No," she said, seriously this time, sensing that something was troubling him. "Something happened tonight. What was it?"
"I wanted to talk to you," he said simply.
"About what?"
Her eyes searched his, never turning away. Those wonderful eyes. God, she was lovely. Taylor swallowed, his mind whirling. "There was an accident on the bridge tonight," he said abruptly.
Denise nodded, still uncertain of where this was going. "I know. It was quiet here all night. Hardly anyone came in because the bridge was closed. Were you there?"
Taylor nodded.
"I heard it was terrible. Was it?"
Taylor nodded again.
She reached out, her fingers gently taking hold of his arm. "Hold on, okay? Let me see what still needs to be done before we close up."
She turned from him, her touch slipping from his skin, and went back to the kitchen. Taylor stood in the diner, alone with his thoughts for a minute, until Denise came back out.
Surprisingly, she walked past him toward the front door, where she reversed the "Open" sign. Eights was closed.
"Everything in the kitchen's shut down," she explained. "I've got a few things to do and then I'll be ready to go. Why don't you wait for me, okay? We can talk at my house."
Taylor carried Kyle to the truck, his head on Taylor's shoulder. Once inside, he immediately curled around Denise, never awaking in the process.
Once they were home, the procedure was reversed, and after sliding Kyle from Denise's lap, Taylor carried him into the house to his bedroom. He put Kyle in his bed, and Denise immediately pulled the sheet over him. On the way out the door, she pushed the button on his plastic glowing teddy bear, hearing the music come on. She left the door halfway open as they both crept out of his room.
In the living room, Denise turned on one of the lamps as Taylor sat on the couch. After a slight hesitation, Denise sat in a separate chair, catercorner to the couch.
Neither one of them had said anything on the way home for fear of waking Kyle, but once they were seated Denise went straight to the point.
"What happened?" she asked. "On the bridge tonight."
Taylor told her everything: about the rescue, what Mitch and Joe had said, the images he'd been tormented by afterward. Denise sat quietly as he talked, her eyes never leaving his face. When he was finished, she leaned forward in her seat.
"You saved him?"
"I didn't. We all did," Taylor said, automatically making the distinction.
"But how many of you went out on the ladder? How many of you had to let go because the ladder wouldn't hold?"
Taylor didn't answer, and Denise rose from her seat to sit next to him on the couch.
"You're a hero," she said, a small grin on her face. "Just like you were when Kyle was lost."
"No, I'm not," he said, images of the past surfacing against his will.
"Yes, you are." She reached for his hand. For the next twenty minutes they talked about inconsequential things, their conversation wandering here and there. At last Taylor asked about the men who wanted to drive her home; she laughed and rolled her eyes, explaining it away as part of the job. "The nicer I am, the more tips I get. But some men, I suppose, take it the wrong way."
The simple drift of the conversation was soothing; Denise did her best to keep Taylor's thoughts away from the accident. As a child, when she'd had nightmares, her mother used to do the same thing. By talking about something else, anything else, she would finally be able to relax.
It seemed to be working for Taylor as well. He gradually began to speak less, his answers coming more slowly. His eyes closed and opened, closed again. His breaths settled into a deeper rhythm as the demands of the day began to take their toll.
Denise held his hand, watching until he nodded off. Then she rose from the couch and retrieved an extra blanket from her bedroom. When she gave him a nudge, Taylor lay down and she was able to drape the blanket over him.
Half-asleep, he mumbled something about having to go; Denise whispered that he was fine where he was. "Go to sleep," she murmured as she turned off the lamp.
She went to her own room and slipped out of her workclothes, then into her pajamas. She untied her ponytail, brushed her teeth, and scrubbed the grease from her face. Then, after crawling into bed, she closed her eyes.
The fact that Taylor McAden was sleeping in the other room was the last thing she remembered before she, too, nodded off.
"Hewwo, Tayer," Kyle said happily.
Taylor opened his eyes, squinting against the early morning sunlight streaming in the living room window. Wiping the sleep from his eyes with the back of his hand, he saw Kyle standing over him, his face very close. Kyle's hair, clumped and matted, pointed off in various directions.
It took a second for Taylor to register where he was. When Kyle pulled back, smiling, Taylor sat up. He ran both hands through his hair. Checking his watch, he saw that it was a little after six in the morning. The rest of the house was quiet.
"Good morning, Kyle. How are you?"
"He's sleeping." (Eez sweepeen)
"Where's your mom?"
"He's on the couch." (Eez on-ah coush)
Taylor straightened up, feeling the stiffness in his joints. His shoulder ached as it always did when he woke.
"I sure was."
Taylor stretched his arms out to the side and yawned.
"Good morning," he heard behind him. Over his shoulder he saw Denise coming out of her room, wearing long pink pajamas and socks. He stood up from the couch.
"Good morning," he said, turning around. "I reckon I must have dozed off last night."
"You were tired."
"Sorry about that."
"It's okay," she said. Kyle had wandered to the corner of the living room and sat down to play with his toys. Denise walked over to him and bent, kissing him on the top of the head. "Good morning, sweetie."
"Morning," he said. (Mawneen)
"Are you hungry?"
"No."
"Do you want some yogurt?"
"No."
"Do you want to play with your toys?"
Kyle nodded, and Denise returned her attention to Taylor. "How about you? Are you hungry?"
"I don't want you to have to cook up something special."
"I was going to offer you some Cheerios," she said, eliciting a smile from Taylor. She adjusted her pajama top. "Did you sleep okay?"
"Like a rock," he said. "Thanks for last night. You were more than patient with me."
She shrugged, her eyes catching the morning light. Her hair, long and tangled, grazed her shoulders. "What are friends for?"
Embarrassed for some reason, he reached for the blanket and began folding it, glad for something to do. He felt out of place here, at her house, so early in the morning.
Denise came and stood next to him. "You sure you don't want to stay for breakfast? I've got half a box."
Taylor debated. "And milk?" he finally asked.
"No, we use water in our cereal here," she said seriously.
He looked at her as if wondering whether or not to believe her, when Denise suddenly laughed, the sound melodic.
"Of course we have milk, you goob."